


transcends hunger

by verkwanchan



Category: Hannibal (TV), เพราะเราคู่กัน | 2gether: The Series (Thailand TV) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, M/M, Murder, bright as will graham, this is hannibal au so take from that what you will, win as hannibal lecter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verkwanchan/pseuds/verkwanchan
Summary: Win despises the rude. But for Bright, he might be willing to make an exception.
Relationships: Bright Vachirawit Chivaaree/Win Metawin Opas-iamkajorn
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	transcends hunger

**Author's Note:**

> me looking at any of my interests: how can i make this abt brightwin/sarawatine
> 
> this whole fic is just me being self-indulgent. i wanted to write this for sarawatine week under crime/shows but i didn't have the time so i changed it to brightwin and here we are now,, this is based on hannibal s1 but you don't have to watch that to understand this because i basically just picked all the elements (and dialogue) i wanted to keep and didn't follow the plot that strictly. thank u as always to user foulplayed for beta-ing this for me, i love u always! last warning to heed the tags before you continue!! oki enjoy<3

There is nothing Win despises more than rude people.

He’s standing in line at a coffee shop, trying to get his caffeine fix before he goes to work. He usually brews his own, but he didn’t have the time to today. Last evening’s... engagement ran a little too late and it messed with his circadian rhythm. His plan was to quickly go in and out of the coffee shop and go about his day. Simple enough. Unfortunately, things weren’t going as planned.

The line has been held up for more than ten minutes now by some guy shouting at the poor cashier. He’s been going on and on about how they messed up his order (they didn’t) and how he should be compensated for it. The cashier tried to explain that they just gave him what he ordered, but the man wasn’t having it at all.

“You don’t know who you’re fucking with, do you? I’m a partner in the biggest law firm in Bangkok! I can shut this establishment down if I wanted to!” he screams, pointing his finger accusatorily at the cashier. 

Win feels his temples throb as he witnesses all this. Basic human decency is so, so easy and it doesn’t cost a penny either. He doesn’t want to deal with this so early in the morning.

This goes on for a while more until the manager comes out and gives the man a refund and another drink to appease him. This seems to work well enough, seeing as the man finally walks away from the counter to sit down.

The line starts progressing quickly after this. He takes a glance at the cashier and while at first glance they seem to be holding up okay, the flush on their neck and ears suggests that they still feel mortified about the whole encounter. Win makes sure to tip generously after he pays.

He takes his coffee and just before he turns to leave, he sees the man from earlier in the corner of his eyes. He feels irate all over again, and in that split second, he makes a decision. He is planning to have a dinner party soon, after all. There is always room for more on his table.

He approaches the table the man is sitting at. “Hi, sorry to bother you. I can’t help but overhear from earlier that you’re a lawyer?” Win says, flashing his most winning smile. The man gives him a once-over. Probably trying to see if his clothes are expensive enough, if he is _good_ enough to speak to. Win knew that type very well. 

The man decides that he is. “Yes. What do you need?” he asks, eyes narrowed to suspicious slits.

“Well, you see, I’m currently in need of legal counsel and I’ve been looking for a while. I figured since you’re part of the biggest firm in Bangkok, you must be a great lawyer.” The lie flows smoothly out of his mouth, and he sees the man almost preening visibly over the compliment. Men like these are so easy, stroke their ego and you’ll have them eating at the palm of your hands.

“Of course I am,” he says, smiling smugly. _Pig._ “So, how can I help you?”

“Actually, I’d like to speak to you about it in private. It’s a bit sensitive, you see. How can I contact you?” The man takes out a business card from his wallet and hands it to him. He reads over it and brushes his finger across the name. _Beam Nattapong Chanthara._

“Alright, it’s nice meeting you, Beam,” Win says, shaking his hand and smiling. “I’ll see you _real soon._ ”

* * *

Win cuts his tongue out first. He has never been a religious man, but there is one Bible passage he is quite fond of: _if thy right eye offend thee, cast it out and pluck it from thee_. The man’s tongue is the biggest offender, so it must be the first to go. 

He pulls on the tongue with one gloved hand, holding a scalpel on the other. The scalpel cuts across easily, the flesh providing no resistance. The stump begins bleeding profusely and he sees the look of terror in Beam’s eyes intensify. He probably knows that it won’t be long until he bleeds to death by the rate it’s going.

He begins making quick work of his chest. He slices it open, cutting through layers of skin and muscle with surgical precision, and cracks open his ribcage. Beam tries to scream, but with his tongue cut off, the sound comes out hoarse and he begins choking on his blood. 

Win listens to him struggling, the strangled noises ringing in his ears. Moments like these are when he feels most focused, sharpest. Calm and centered. He severs the tissues holding his organs in place and organizes them into separate containers even more quickly and efficiently.

It’s nothing compared to the other atrocities he’s committed, of course. But he knows it’s debased to find serenity in hearing someone sounding so tortured. He doesn’t care. He has about as much sympathy for pigs in a slaughterhouse as he does for people like Beam, because to him, that’s all they are.

After a few minutes, he’s met with silence. He checks for a pulse and sure enough, there’s none.

He begins methodically segmenting the body into manageable pieces. This is not usually the way he does things. He usually only takes the parts that he wants, leaving the rest of the body intact for him to… ascend.

Win wanted to be an architect, once. Art has always been one of his greatest passions. Things didn’t pan out the way he originally planned it out to be, seeing as he’s a psychiatrist now. By taking these _pigs_ and turning them into something higher, something more beautiful, he can still make art in a way that satisfies him. It’s just a shame that he’ll never be able to take credit for his masterpieces.

He can’t do any of that tonight, however. He is operating on more limited time than usual, seeing as he didn’t have as much time to plan this kill out as he usually does. He will have to settle with elevating this scum of a man into something worthy of his table.

After he finishes dismantling the body, he packs it up and starts cleaning up. He is careful in making sure there is no trace of him left behind, wiping out any sign that anyone was ever there. Once he’s done, he strips off his kill suit, loads the cooler containing the body parts in his car, and heads home.

Just as Win is almost finished putting away and taking care of everything he had to before going to bed, his phone starts to ring. Win’s brows furrow at this. _Who could be calling at this hour?_

He picks up the call. “Win Metawin speaking.”

“Dr. Metawin, this is Foei Patara from the Behavioral Science Unit at the DSI. I apologize for calling so late.” _The DSI? Well, that’s new._

“No worries, Mr. Patara. How can I help you?” he says in the most pleasant tone he can muster, twirling the scalpel he’s been cleaning between his fingers.

“The DSI would like your assistance in creating the profile for one of our active serial killer cases right now. Dr. Pattranite highly recommended you,” Foei says, a bit slowly, like he’s trying to choose his words carefully. There’s something more to all of this, Win knows. He’s intrigued now. _What could it be?_

Alright, he’ll bite. “I’d be happy to provide my services. When would you like me to come? I’ll need to make adjustments to my schedule.”

“Thank you, doctor. Please let me know if Monday next week is good for you. Have a good rest of your evening.”

“Likewise, Mr. Patara. I’ll talk to you soon,” Win says and hangs up. _The DSI, huh. That should be interesting._ He wipes the scalpel he’s been holding clean and puts it away.

* * *

“P’Foei! How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to call for me when I have classes?” a man says as he barges into Foei’s office without knocking. Win’s first thought is: _how rude. Note to self: ask for his business card later._ He turns his head to look at the man who just entered, and at that very moment, Win’s entire world screeches to a halt.

The man is absolutely gorgeous. Win is an artist, he knows beauty when he sees it. This man has it in _spades._ His brown hair is slightly disheveled like he just ran his hands through it. Win wants nothing more at this moment than to tangle his fingers through its strands and smooth it down into place. His glasses are perched on top of a perfectly sculpted nose, but they do little to hide his long eyelashes framing a pair of beautiful, piercing eyes. His heart-shaped lips that are curled into a frown look full, plump. Idly, he wonders what it would be like to bite down hard enough to make them bleed.

This man is probably the most beautiful person he’s ever seen in his life. Win has never wanted to touch, to crack open, to _consume_ in his life more than he does now. If he didn’t know better, he’d mistake this for love at first sight. If Win is being honest, he’s not fully sure if he does know better.

Those piercing eyes land on him, and his scowl deepens further. “Who the fuck is this, phi? What’s he doing here?” Such rude things coming out from such a pretty, pretty mouth. He crosses his legs and conceals a smile. Win is going to enjoy taking him apart.

Foei sighs. “Sit down, Bright. This is Dr. Win Metawin, he’s going to be helping us with the psychological profile for the killer we’ve been looking for. Doctor, this is Special Agent Bright Vachirawit. He’s a professor here at the Academy. We consult with him often with cases.” Win gives him a polite smile, to which Bright gives a nod in response without meeting his eyes. 

Bright Vachirawit. Now Win understands why Foei called for him. He recognizes Bright’s name from discussions he heard in psychiatric circles. Pure empathy, they say. The ability to wear anyone’s skin, feel their emotions and think their thoughts. An indispensable gift when it comes to catching killers and one of DSI’s greatest assets. But that’s not all they say. He’s heard whispers about Bright, too. How he gets too close and how with every killer’s mind he delves into, he brings a little piece back with him. People say he’s a ticking time bomb, only a matter of time before he inevitably explodes.

Foei didn’t want help with the killer, he wanted help with Bright. _Well,_ Win smiles, _that should be interesting._

Bright lets out a scoff. “Consult? More like shove case files at me and forcibly ‘borrow my imagination’,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Whatever. What do you have for me today? What was so important that you had to interrupt my class, P’Foei?”

They discuss the details of the case, but Win is only half paying attention. His focus is set on Bright, who’s currently being brought up to speed by Foei. 

Win notices that he’s fidgety, fingers constantly tapping on his thigh as he listens to Foei talk. Bright speaks with them, asking questions about the case and making observations from the evidence. However, not once does he meet eyes with either him or Foei.

Win points this out. “Not a fan of eye contact?”

Bright looks at him properly for the first time since he entered the office. He turns his head to face him, takes off his glasses in one swift motion, and looks him squarely in the eyes. Win’s mind blanks for a second. Bright’s eyes are even prettier without the glasses obstructing them. His gaze feels intrusive, like he’s peeling off layers of skin and burrowing right to his core. _I see you,_ it says. With everything he’s hiding, Win probably shouldn’t like this intrusion as much as he does. As it stands, he finds it _extremely_ attractive.

“No. I hate it,” he says, not breaking eye contact. “Eyes are distracting. I already see and hear too much. People are too loud, looking at their eyes just amplifies it.” _You seem to do it well enough with me,_ Win thinks, pleased.

“Avoiding eye contact is a fort, then. A means of keeping people out. Or keeping yourself in, as it is,” Win says, holding his gaze. Bright’s brows furrow at this and he breaks eye contact, putting his glasses back on.

“Whose profile are you working on? Phi, whose profile is he working on?” Bright asks, tone accusatory.

“I apologize, I don’t mean to. An occupational hazard, I’m afraid. Can’t turn it off,” Win says, in his best effort to sound placating.

“Please. Don't psychoanalyze me. You won’t like me when I’m psychoanalyzed,” Bright says, meeting Win’s gaze once more. Win sees promises of something dark swirling beneath his black-brown eyes and a pleasant hum stirs somewhere in his stomach.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go give a lecture on psychoanalyzing,” Bright says flippantly before walking out. Win, a man half in love already, follows Bright with his eyes until he’s out of the door.

* * *

Win hasn’t stopped thinking about Bright since the day they met. He couldn’t get the image of Bright looking straight into his eyes and feeling _seen,_ even just for a little bit, out of his head. He wants to see him again.

Opportunity comes knocking in the form of another phone call from Foei.

A week after he went to the Academy, Foei calls him asking if he is okay with doing Bright’s psych eval following an “encounter” he had in the field. Bright, who left Homicide because he didn’t have the guts to pull the trigger, shot ten bullets into the serial killer they were hunting. Naturally, Win obliges.

Now, he’s waiting for Bright to arrive at his office. Their appointment is set five minutes from now, which means he might arrive at any moment. Win smooths down the front of his suit and fixes his hair in front of a mirror. He’s not nervous, not at all. Nervousness is for weaker men than he is. He just wants to… make a good impression.

Not long after, he hears a knock. Win dusts his pants off once more, then goes to get the door.

Sure enough, he sees Bright. He looks just as he remembers. Beautiful. Win swallows before giving Bright a welcoming smile and beckoning him inside.

“Please sit,” Win says, gesturing to the chair in front of his table. Bright takes the seat silently, eyes fixed downward.

Win takes out a brown envelope out of his desk drawer and slides it across the table. “Here. This is what you came for, right?” This causes Bright to look up. He takes the brown envelope and begins rummaging through its contents.

“You rubber-stamped me?” Bright says, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

“Mhm. You are, for all intents and purposes, sane and emotionally stable. Congratulations.”

Bright looks him over now, regarding him with curiosity. “Just like that? Why?”

“I find you interesting. And,” Win props his elbow up his desk and rests his chin on his hand, “I want to see what happens,” he says, with eyes glinting and a smile on his face.

Bright raises an eyebrow at this, visibly amused. “I’m not quite sure that’s ethical.”

“No, perhaps not,” Win says, peering through his eyelashes to look at Bright’s face directly.

The corners of Bright’s lips quirk up into a smile and his eyes meet Win’s. “You’re strange, doctor. I think I find you interesting, too.”

* * *

To his credit, Win successfully hides his delight when Bright comes back not a week later citing hallucinations about the man he shot while investigating a crime scene.

“I still don’t think therapy is for me, though,” Bright says, shifting in his seat.

“Well, this doesn’t have to be that. We could just have… conversations. Off the record.” 

“Conversations? What, like friends?”

Win shrugs slightly. “If you wish, yes.”

Bright considers this for a moment. “Well. Love has been saying I should make more friends.”

“Ah, Love was my junior in med school. Brilliant woman. You should listen to her, she’s right most of the time, you know.”

“Yeah, she is,” Bright says, fondness for Love evident in his voice. Win has to make an effort not to feel irritated at Love. He likes her too, she’s intelligent, cultured, and well-mannered. A gem, really. She is not a threat. He takes a breath and composes himself.

Bright speaks again, interrupting his train of thought. “Okay, fuck it. Conversations, you say? I think I can do that.”

The smile he gives Bright is one of pure satisfaction. “Perfect. Let me know what schedule works best for you.”

“Oh, and one more thing. If we’re going to be friends, please call me Win.”

* * *

Win sees Bright again earlier than he anticipated. Their first “conversation” was set to be held two days from now, but due to unforeseen ( _but welcome,_ Win thinks) circumstances, Bright’s currently sitting in an armchair in his office opposite him.

“So, what was going through your head when you started firing rounds at the suspect you’re chasing? Walk me through it.” Bright lets out an audible exhale at this and pointedly averts his eyes.

“You told me this wasn’t therapy,” Bright says, tone sharp and cutting.

Win brushes it off and pushes through. “It isn’t. I’m making conversation. Did you see your victim when you were shooting the gun?”

Bright sighs resignedly. “He’s not my victim, and no, I didn’t see him.”

“If he isn’t your victim, then what is he?”

“Nothing. He’s nothing to me. I shot him, he died and now he’s nothing.”

“Even if he’s nothing to you, you must have felt something when you shot him. What did killing him feel like, Bright?” Win asks, pushing Bright to open further. He will chip at him little by little then mold him into someone that could stand at his side. When Win first saw Bright, he wanted to take him apart in the literal sense. Taking him apart like this, Win finds, is even better. He has always wanted someone who can look at his works and _see_ him. Bright could be that for him, he knows.

“Killing him felt like prosecution. It felt purposeful,” Bright says, still refusing to meet Win’s eyes.

“And was that feeling what you were chasing when you shot at the suspect? That feeling of purpose?”

“Shooting him didn’t feel the same.”

“Well, you didn’t kill him. Not like the other one,” Win says matter-of-factly.

“No,” Bright agrees, nodding. “But I think I wanted to.”

Bright sighs and runs his hand through his hair, messing it up. Win finds himself holding his breath as he watches Bright do this. This isn’t anywhere near the first time Win saw him, but his beauty is still devastating to him. He wants to have Bright fully, in every manner and form. Win is so, _so_ hungry and he wants to consume him whole. _All in due time,_ he reminds himself.

Bright sighs again, louder this time. “This is why I left the force. I already have too many ghosts living in my head, I didn’t really need more to bother me.”

Win hums at this, pensive. “I don’t think it’s the ghost of the man you killed that’s bothering you, though. Do you feel bad because killing him felt good to you?”

“I liked killing him,” Bright says, voice barely above a whisper. It sounds like a confession of guilt. Win sees Bright’s eyes darken even as they’re fixed to the ground as he says this. Win allows himself to preen a little. He’s been hoping to coax out the darkness he saw in Bright’s eyes the first time they met, and here it is now.

“Killing must feel good to God as well. I bet he likes it too. I bet it makes him feel powerful, he does it all the time.”

Bright lifts his head and for the first time today, he meets Win’s eyes. “And you? What would it make you feel like?

Win smiles, and to anyone who sees it, it probably looks angelic. Pure. It is anything but. “Me? I think I’d feel like God.”

* * *

“You’re lonely,” Gigie states while pouring Win a glass of red wine.

Win gladly takes the glass. “I have friends. I’d like to think we’re friendly.”

“I’m your psychiatrist, Win. Not your friend.”

Win smiles at her, unflapped. “You’ve never been one to mince your words.”

Gigie takes a leisurely sip from her wine glass. “Well, one of us has to be honest.”

“I’m honest.” Gigie raises a perfectly-shaped brow at that.

“You carry it very well, of course, but that doesn’t hide the fact that you wear a perfectly constructed person suit that no one has ever seen what’s under. Which brings me back to my point. You’re lonely.”

Win hums noncommittally. “Don’t we all get lonely sometimes?”

“You’ve spent your entire life perfecting your disguise, Win. It’s natural to want someone to rip through all that and see what’s underneath.”

Win says nothing, choosing to take a sip from his wine glass instead.

* * *

Win has gotten exponentially closer to Bright over the past few weeks.

It’s easier talking to him, there’s much less of the snappy sarcasm that he uses as one of the many forts he’s built around himself. With every meeting they have, Bright appears to be less tense, more open.

He learns just how intelligent Bright is. It shouldn’t have come as a shock—he has an extraordinary mind, after all—but it's a pleasant surprise just how well-versed he is in things concerning culture. Things of Win’s world. He’s been able to go toe-to-toe with Win in just about every conversation they’ve had, even teaching Win about things from _his_ world. Things he learned and experienced from growing up in provincial Thailand that Win didn’t have the access to in his upper class city-boy upbringing.

It’s gone beyond their conversations in his office. He’s even invited Bright to his house to have meals with him. With every second he spends with Bright, the more he finds himself entranced with the other man. It’s no longer just about his otherworldly beauty or his unique disposition. To his surprise, he’s actually interested in who Bright is as a person. He _genuinely_ likes him, whatever that means with a person like Win.

Which just strengthens his resolve on having Bright in all ways he possibly can.

If Win plays his cards right, if all goes according to his meticulously laid out plans, Bright can be his _partner,_ in all essences of the word. The thought brings a smile to his face.

Win heads out to the kitchen, in a pleasant mood. He’s poring through the pantry, looking for something to cook for dinner, when he hears an insistent knocking coming from his front door. He doesn’t remember inviting anyone over tonight, but he makes his way to the foyer nonetheless.

The person he sees upon opening the door surprises him. “Bright. I didn’t know you were coming over. Please come in.”

Bright just stands there, unmoving. He’s breathing heavily, like he rushed all the way to Win’s house. After a few seconds of catching his breath, he speaks. “Love and I kissed.”

_Well. That can’t be right._

Win grits his teeth but quickly composes himself. “I see. I think it’s best if we take this inside.”

He leads Bright to his dining room and gets him a glass of water. “So, do you want to tell me what happened?” he asks calmly, though he feels his anger bubbling just under the surface.

Bright takes a sip of water and musses his hair. “I don’t even know how it led to that point. I guess I’ve always been curious about what we'd be like… together. Maybe it all just came to a head earlier.”

“And what was it like? Was it anything like you imagined it to be?” Win asks. This elicits a sigh out of Bright.

“I thought I’d like it. For the longest time, I thought I liked her. I mean, you know Love. It’s easy to know her and feel like you’re in love with her,” Bright says, smiling at the thought of Love despite everything. 

It’s gone as quickly as it came, however. “But being in that moment itself, it’s different. I remember kissing her and just thinking ‘this is not the right fit’. It felt wrong,” Bright says, frowning at the glass of water he’s holding. Win successfully holds down the smile he feels is about to surface.

“What did Love think about it?” Win asks, voice not betraying his emotions. Bright might have felt like it wasn’t the right fit, but if Love has any other ideas, well. That’s going to be a problem that Win will have to deal with.

Bright chuckles humorlessly. “She more or less rejected me without me even asking. Said we wouldn’t be good for each other.”

Win allows himself to smile at this, just slightly that it’s almost imperceptible. “Well, that saves you both all the trouble, no? Since you pretty much came to the same conclusion.”

Bright nods. “I guess so. I think it just shook me when it happened but I think I’m okay now. Sorry for barging in unannounced, by the way. I needed to process what happened and next thing I know I’m pulling up on your driveway.” 

“Nonsense, Bright. You don’t have to apologize. We’re friends, aren’t we? You can always come to me. Now, since you’re here, would you care to stay for dinner?” 

* * *

“I think I found someone to rip through the person suit you speak of,” Win says, making Gigie stop mid-pour.

“Oh? Have you found a friend?” Gigie asks, surveying his face further. “Or is it something more?”

Win smiles into his wine glass. “Or something more.”

Gigie’s expression is one of pure intrigue. “You’re dating someone?”

“Well, not yet. But I’m hoping,” Win says, and his voice must have betrayed what he’s feeling because it is at this moment that Gigie raises the wine glass to her lips, smirking.

“You’re actually interested in someone. Wow, that’s new. Who’s the lucky person?” Gigie asks. This is perhaps the most interest he’s ever seen Gigie show in all the years he’s known her.

“I’m sure you know him. Bright Vachirawit.” Both of Gigie’s eyebrows shoot up at this.

“Of course, the talk of every psychiatric circle. Leave it to you to choose someone beautiful and tortured. You love your classics. Nothing prettier than a tragedy, is it?” Win doesn’t answer and Gigie takes this as the cue to speak more.

“I wonder, is it your god complex that got you interested? Did you perhaps think you can be a shining light for him to follow around? Or maybe it’s the premise of having influence over that mind of his that lured you in.” Win laughs at this lightly.

“While your psychoanalysis skills are excellent as always, phi, have you considered that maybe I just like him?” Win says, and even in his own ears, it sounds unconvincing.

He knows Gigie hears it too, but she lets it slide. “Is that so? Well, in that case, happy hunting.”

 _Hunting._ Interesting word choice. Win couldn’t agree more. However, if his plan is to go smoothly, he needs to create some measures to prevent any more incidents like the one with Love from happening. This one might have been nothing, but there’s no guarantee that the next ones will be.

It’s time to send over some gifts.

* * *

Bright looks at the crime scene before him and sighs. This isn’t how he was planning to spend his weekend.

Well, at least it’s easy on the eyes. Pretty, even. The victim is sheet-white, like she’s been drained of every drop of blood from her body. She’s dressed in a flowy, white dress, and her blonde hair was artfully arranged to frame her face. Her hands were placed on her torso, and she’s been made to hold a bouquet of sorts. From far away, it looks like a normal arrangement of red flowers, roses, carnations, and the like. Upon further inspection however, you can see something hiding in between. Organs carved into the shape of tulips.

The handiwork is impressive, this is definitely the work of an artist. As for the motive, it’s pretty much clear-cut. It’s a love confession. A gift. It doesn’t take a mind of Bright’s caliber to figure that out.

Bright tells Foei as much. He tells him to search for someone with an art background, presumably in the field of woodcarving or something of the sort. Foei seems to be satisfied with that and allows Bright to take his leave.

Two days later, just as Bright is on his way home after class, he receives a call from Foei about another body.

This one is much less aesthetically pleasing than the one from the other day. A guitar neck shoved through the mouth of the victim with the throat opened up to expose the strings.

Bright closes his eyes and works through the crime scene. The murderer was quick and unfeeling in the way he killed the victim. This isn’t a crime of passion by any means, the victim was simply a tool, a _medium,_ for the murderer to relay his message. And what’s that message?

He envisions himself playing the instrument the killer has made, and it comes easily enough. The guitar is his preferred instrument, after all. As soon as he starts playing, it all clicks. The murderer is playing a serenade. That’s his message.

And not just a serenade to anyone, Bright realizes. It’s a serenade for _him._ His mind drifts to the body they found earlier this week and it all falls into place. The flowers and now, a serenade using his favorite instrument. It’s a courtship.

Bright smiles despite himself. Well, _that_ changes things. 

* * *

Bright is at Win’s office when Foei calls him about discovering the third body of the week.

“Yeah, send me the location and I’ll be right over,” Bright says before hanging up.

“Emergency?” Win asks, head tilted in a perfect display of curiosity. He knows what they found, he put it there after all.

“Yeah,” Bright says. He looks Win over before seemingly making a decision. “Wanna come with?”

Win puts on a mask of calmness, though he feels elated inside. Seeing Bright relive his art is his favorite. “Of course. I’ll drive us.”

Bright inputs the address into the GPS of Win’s car, though he really doesn’t need it. Of course, Bright doesn’t know this, so Win lets him.

He drives them to a cathedral, which is barricaded all around with yellow tape. Bright flashes his badge at the cops guarding the perimeter and they let them both pass through. They enter the facilities, where Foei spots them immediately as they walk in.

“Good, you’re here. I’ll tell everyone to clear out so you can focus,” Foei says, motioning Win to come with him.

Bright shakes his head. “No. Let him stay. Everyone else can go.” Foei gives him a strange look but doesn’t ask further questions. The rest of the force investigating the scene heads out upon Foei’s instruction.

Now that they’re alone, Win could finally take a look at his handiwork, which is mounted in front of the altar. He’s proud of this one. He folded up a body so it would form an anatomically accurate heart, with distinct chambers and all. A human origami heart. A little too on the nose when it comes to symbolism, but he’s not exactly bashful.

Bright closes his eyes and begins working his magic. Win watches him intently, savoring every single movement on Bright’s face as he traces back Win’s steps in his mind. He doesn’t get to see Bright do this very often, but every single time he does is a gift. He has always wanted to feel seen, to be recognized in his work. This is as close as he’s ever gotten.

A shame that Bright hasn’t figured out it’s Win. Though Win figures he wouldn’t take it well if he knew, at least not as he is right now. He’s still having fun and he likes Bright _very much,_ he doesn’t want to kill him and have this end just yet. Maybe after a while longer, when he’s coaxed out the darkness he knows Bright possesses more, when he’s ready to be what Win wants him to be. _Yes,_ Win nods to himself, resolute, _maybe it’s better he hasn’t found out yet._

After several minutes of silence, Bright opens his eyes once more. Oddly, he seems calm as he does.

“Win, can you please call P’Foei for me?” Bright asks, uncharacteristically polite. Win, a bit stunned, does as he’s told.

“What is it, Bright?” Foei asks as he approaches them, brows furrowed.

“It’s the same person. The person who did the last two kills is also the person who did this one. The guitar, the flowers, and now this heart. It’s connected. It’s a courtship,” Bright says, adjusting his glasses. “Not just that, this is them staking his claim. Someone tried to… poach the person they’re interested in, and they’re not having it. Find the person they’re courting and you’ll most likely find your killer, too.”

Foei massages his temples, grimacing. “And how do we go about finding that person?”

“All I can gather is they’re obviously from here. The killer left no other hint,” Bright says, voice low, decidedly looking anywhere but in Foei’s direction.

Foei sighs tiredly. “Alright, you can take your leave. I’ll tell you if anything else comes up.” Bright nods and turns toward Win.

“Hey, can I eat dinner at yours tonight?” Bright asks, catching Win off guard. He quickly composes himself and smiles at Bright.

“Of course. You’re my friend, Bright. You can come over anytime you please.”

In an uncommon turn of events, Bright returns his smile. “Of course. I’ll be by at 7.”

* * *

“This is a veal involtini. Prosciutto, parmesan, basil and mint wrapped in a veal roll-up, served with a cream and brandy sauce. Dig in,” Win says as he sets Bright’s plate in front of him. He sits on the chair opposite Bright and starts eating his own meal.

Bright hums appreciatively. “This looks great. I wonder what transgression this ‘veal’ has committed against you to end up being served at your table,” he says, before taking a forkful and putting it in his mouth.

Win almost drops his utensils. “Pardon?” Bright rolls his eyes at him.

“Come on, Win. You’re better than this. Let’s not act dumb.” Win lets out a soft laugh, partly at how absurd the situation is.

“You’re right, I apologize. As for your question, let’s just say the veal was… rude.”

Bright grins. “Of course, a mortal sin.”

“Precisely. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, how did you find out? And when?” Win asks, putting down his fork for a moment.

“I spend half of my time with you and the other half analyzing your crime scenes. With my special powers,” Bright rolls his eyes as he says this, “it really doesn’t take a genius. Your work has you written all over it. As for when, maybe a few weeks after we first met. I don’t remember exactly.”

Win just stares at him, still in shock. _He’s known for that long? And he didn’t say anything?_

Bright starts speaking again. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but seeing as all three of your last… pieces were for me, I figured it would be rude to not address it. And we know how you feel about rudeness.” Bright begins eating the food he’s prepared again and Win just sits there, transfixed. He has always known that Bright is beautiful, but seeing him eat food he’s made, knowing exactly what’s in it and not caring? He has never looked more beautiful than in this exact moment.

“Why didn’t you say anything? If you knew it was me?” Win asks, genuinely curious.

Bright props up one elbow up the table and rests his chin on his hand, a perfect mirror of Win when he came to him for the psych eval. He looks Win straight in the eyes and smiles languidly. “Simple. I wanted to know what would happen.” And it is at that moment that everything clicks into place.

Win spent months trying to mold Bright into a person who could see him and stand by his side. A perfect partner, an equal. Someone who could see his masterpieces and know who did it and what it meant. He thought he was chipping away at Bright, making him malleable. What he didn’t know was there was no need for that, there never was. Bright was already exactly what he wanted him to be.

Therefore, there’s no surprise over what comes out of his mouth next. “I’m in love with you.”

Bright beams at him and if Win isn’t mistaken, he thinks he sees fondness in his expression. “I know. You made it pretty clear with your origami heart. Really drove the point home, huh?”

“What do you think? Of the tableaus? Did you like them?” Win asks, making Bright exhale out a breathy laugh.

“You find out that someone who works for the DSI knows you’re a cannibalistic serial killer and your concern is whether or not I liked them? You’re ridiculous, you really are,” Bright rolls his eyes but his tone comes out affectionate.

“Well, seeing as that person is still eating the food I served him despite knowing what’s in it, I don’t really think he cares that much.”

“Hey, I grew up poor. Waste not, want not,” Bright says, continuing to shovel food inside his mouth. He swallows before continuing.

“As for whether I like your work, I do think they’re really pretty. You’re an artist, after all. They stand out over all the other bland, unimaginative crime scenes. However, I’d like it if you stopped dedicating your masterpieces to me. I’m the one who has to explain them and I don’t really know how many ways I can bullshit ‘my boyfriend did this for me as a gift because he’s an eccentric artist who can’t just give flowers’ before I run out. Maybe just give me a kitten or a puppy?” Bright says, but Win is stuck on one word. _Boyfriend?_

“Boyfriend? Is that what I am?” Win asks, making Bright’s eyes widen.

Bright’s ears redden and he shifts his gaze. “Well, yeah? I mean, weren’t those courting gifts? Usually this is the desired result.”

“That’s true. While you didn’t say anything before, I’m just going to presume that since you called me your ‘boyfriend’, you like me back. Does this mean I can kiss you now?” Win says, finally regaining his composure after the surprise he’s been through the whole night.

Bright’s cheeks flush a deep red but he meets his eyes determinedly. They look pitch black from where Win’s sitting. “Yeah.”

Win wastes no time upon hearing Bright’s response. He immediately rises from his chair and goes over to where Bright is sitting. Bright’s gaze follows him as he moves, doe-eyed. He’s wanted this for months, he’s going to enjoy _consuming_ him whole. Bright stands up to level with Win’s stare, making their faces mere centimeters apart. Win puts a hand on Bright’s cheek and caresses it with his thumb. He takes off Bright’s glasses with his other hand before finally, _finally_ leaning in and pressing his lips against his.

The kiss is everything Win has ever wanted it to be. Bright’s lips are softer than he’s ever imagined and the fact that he’s kissing Win back with the same eagerness as Win feels makes it a thousand times better. He bites down on Bright’s lower lip, making him gasp. He slides his tongue over it and into his mouth and almost sighs in pleasure. Bright tastes _divine._ Bright tugs at his hair and Win finds his hands on his back underneath Bright’s shirt. He lifts him up onto the table and kisses him even more fervently. Just as Win gets really into it, Bright breaks off the kiss.

Win looks at him through half-lidded eyes, feeling dazed and intoxicated still. “What is it?”

“I was just wondering. Since you’re a cannibal and all, if you suck my dick, will you bite it off?” Bright asks, a teasing glint in his eyes. Win couldn’t hold back the laugh that bursts out of him.

“Oh my God, shut up,” Win says, before pulling him back in for another kiss.

(Bright finds a kitten waiting for him when he gets home from work the next day. He names her Ame.)

**Author's Note:**

> some things i need everyone to know (spoiler warning if u havent watched hannibal):  
> \- love’s character is based on alana bloom, who is canonically bisexual  
> \- alana married a woman named margot and they had a son. it’s not shown here but film is definitely the margot character. therefore!! filmlove canon in this universe also  
> \- bright, in the future of this universe, definitely joins win in a few of his... excursions yes
> 
> research for this was me reading about 400k words worth of hannigram fics and binging hannibal s1. i love murder husbands so much, i hope i did them justice with this brightwin take. anyways! leave me ur thoughts and talk to me on [twt](https://twitter.com/watkavin)


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